


Friday

by RussianWitch



Category: Don Jon (2013), Warrior (2011)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, whatever else I missed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5233088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Completely random domesticity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd   
> This got lodged in my brain...

Tommy makes a weird sort of sound: not quite a growl, nor a moan smothered against Jon's ribs. Pinned down like he is, all Jon can do is raise his head and watch his dick disappear down the man's throat. The single-minded way Tommy fucks his throat with Jon's dick, he'd almost think Tommy had something to prove, or alternatively considering biting it off.

Hasn't happened yet, and they've been doing this shit for a couple of months now. The train of thought disintegrates as Tommy does something filthy with his tongue right where Jon's dick and balls meet, and all he can do is moan like a whore. Maybe dig his heels into the mattress occasionally, and claw at the sheets to keep from grabbing at Tommy's head.

The first time they'd done this, or something anyway, it had been messy, embarrassing and his balls had ached for a week from how hard he'd come. Tommy had liked it too, judging from the way he kept turning up after Jon's shifts to hang around at Jon's place and fuck.

They'd spend a month just rubbing off on each other, getting used to both having a dick. The first time Tommy had jerked off on him, Jon spend the night panicking then, in the morning rubbed himself off against the tree trunk thigh. Tommy never panics as far as Jon can tell, sometimes he catches a look in Tommy's eyes: wild like a stray on the boardwalk mistrustful of kind gestures. He throws himself into everything like it's the last thing he'll ever gonna do. The single mindedness certainly makes him one hell of a cocksucker. Jon smothers a broken moan in his pillow, feels Tommy's thick fingers dig into his hips as he goes for broke. Jon comes fighting not to wrap himself around the bigger man, watching how Tommy's eyes light up with delight until his own fall shut in pleasure.

As he's trying to get his brain working again, Tommy crawls up to collapse next to him. He pulls Jon against his side, takes Jon's hand and wraps it around his own fat dick without asking. If he could actually move, he'd do more than pant against the nearest nipple  and allow Tommy to fuck his hand until he makes a mess of both of them shoving his still come coated tongue into Jon's mouth.

When they are both out of breath, they slump back against the pillows. Jon can't help himself, throwing an arm around the broad chest scratching through the fascinating thatch of chest hair fighting sleep.

"Brendon's coming to town." Tommy grunts into Jon's ear, nuzzling at the newly shaved skin.

"Yeah?" He isn't sure what he's supposed to do with the information. They don't really have a lot in common outside of gym and fucking, but Jon vaguely remembers Tommy sharing that he has a brother and father living—somewhere.

"Wants to go for dinner." Said like he's been asked to go clean dumpsters or something.

"So?" No matter how much Tommy doesn't want to deal with his family, it doesn't have anything to do with Jon.

"Wanna come?" The weird thing about this request being of course that they don't do that kind of shit. Jon's friends aren't even aware that he's having this—thing, or even knows Tommy in any capacity other than from the television. Never mind that he's seen what Tommy looks like wrecked and fucked out.

"You want me to come?" He frowns, not sure if the whole thing is such a good idea. "Do they even know—?" He raises a hand waving it to show what he means.

"Could just be, buddies?" But it's obvious that Tommy doesn't like the idea.

"You want him to know?" Because he isn't sure what the thing between them is, or if he wants anyone to know about it. The whole bed shudders under Tommy's shrug, the answer is an indistinct grunt .

"Tommy—" He slaps the rock hard abdomen and comes away with a stinging hand. Tommy just grunts again, and rolls over on his side to pin Jon with his leg. Teeth sink into Jon's throat, right where it's going to show above the collar of all of his shirts. Absurdly he wonders if telling the girls buying drinks at work that his boyfriend gave those bruises to him would generate more tips. "Tommy, come on, man!" He risks another slap across Tommy's ribs, and gets his arms pinned above his head.

"Tommy—" "Just come along, he's—he doesn't get it." Jon isn't sure he 'gets it' either, but he certainly takes the shit that occasionally accompanies Tommy in stride. After, her, Barbara, anything another guy can throw at him, even one gone a little loopy from wherever the fuck Tommy had been getting shot at is a cake walk.

"What's in it for me?" He jokes, arching up to lick across Tommy's mouth before he gets the idea that Jon is serious.

"Bastard." Tommy grumbles into his mouth. "You coming, or not?" He rolls fully onto Jon leaving him breathless. Something about having the powerful body on top of him, does things to Jon. He still fights against getting pinned as best he can, but of course Tommy is aware of every trick in the book.

"You coming?" He presses while Jon is still too busy clawing at his back. "Jon!" He bites Jon's throat in reprimand.

"Jesus, fuck, if you want." He spits, wiggling until he worms an arm along Tommy's ribs to slap the former soldier's ass. "Pushy fuck!" That comment is rewarded with a smile, something rare and special enough that it makes something in Jon's gut twist and tingle pleasantly.

"Maybe we can try, you know—after." Tommy mumbles, and for a while Jon doesn't get it only for the realization to seep in slowly what Tommy means and that has him hard as a rock against the ridges Tommy's abdomen.

"The fuck we will?" He demands, fingers digging into Tommy's skin in shock.

"You don’t wanna?" Tommy asks, confused.

"No! I mean—YES, I mean yeah, yeah I want! You'd—?" The mere idea of sticking his dick— He isn't sure if he's squirming from being subjected to Tommy's steady gaze, or from the thought of getting to stick his dick up Tommy's ass. Didn't think they'd be doing that…but since Tommy is offering…

"Just 'cause—?" He isn't sure how he likes the idea of that being just payback.

"Nach." Tommy shrugs, lazy and relaxed like he hasn't just offered up his ass on a silver platter. One of the most refreshing things about the man is that he doesn't play games. If he says he wants something or doesn't, he means it and the discussion is closed.

"Okay—" He can't quite wrap his head around the offer, "Yeah, okay—" His dick is hard again just from the thought of it, despite having come already. He's going to be sore if they keep going at each other. Tommy makes a sound that Jon knows means he's being laughed at, not that he cares since all he has to do is sit through one awkward ass dinner and he's going to get to nail Tommy's ass.

His hands seem to have a mind of his own, wandering along Tommy's flank until he's digging his fingers into hard muscle. Jon can't say he's really paid all that much attention to Tommy's ass before, never really been an ass man, and there were a hell of a lot other things to get distracted by anyway. Only now he's curious.

"Turn around?" He asks, not really expecting Tommy to do anything except maybe made fun of him some more, or ignore the request and go to sleep. He doesn't expect to get exactly what he wants: Tommy sliding off of him. "Knock yourself out." The fighter grunts shoving both their pillows under his head and seemingly going to sleep.

"Jesus!" Jon moans, because he can't make this shit up. Grabs the ass presented to him: tight and hard, with a nice curve to it granted, but still a guy's ass. The cheeks twitching under his hands—he'd thought about it with girls, trying to talk one of them into letting him—only this is different somehow. His hands grab hard, greedy, hard enough for Tommy to grunt and twist look at him over his shoulder. Tommy looks curious, and so damn trusting, like Jon knows what the hell he's doing, maybe a little amused.

Times like these, he'd love to know what the hell is going on in Tommy's head: check if maybe one of those knocks he's taken hasn't shook something loose in there or anything. His hands, they have a mind of their own kneading Tommy's ass while he's too busy thinking to pay attention, spreading Tommy's ass cheeks wide so he can get a look at the tiny opening hidden there.

Porn makes this seem easy, but he can't imagine ever fitting in there.

Pressing his thumb against the opening he feels the muscle twitch against the pad of it. Far too small, even with lube they'll probably not manage—"Jon! Stop the fuck _now!_ "

Tommy's growl makes him jump, fall back on his ass terrified he's done something wrong. Only when Tommy rolls over he's wild eyed and rock hard. He barely gives Jon time to process that he isn't dead meat, before knocking him over and pushing their dicks together. Grabbing hold of both of them, squeezing them together: dick against dick slick and hot, gets them fucking his tight fist. "Jesus—, _fuck_ , Tommy!" He chants the name like a prayer, claws at bulky shoulders egging Tommy on until they are both coming all over Jon one after another.

"Damn!" Jon is a fucking mess, and he can't remember a time when he was happier. Tommy collapses on top of him again, Jon doesn't even have the breath to groan in protest. Just throws his arms around the bigger man and decides to pass out—"When?" He barely remembers to ask while trying to decide if he should try to push Tommy away, or risk sticking together. Tommy makes an awesome blanket and Jon has learned he likes having the bigger man wrapped around him when he sleeps. He gets a grunt in reply, has to dig his knee into broad ribs before the former soldier lifts his head to blink at him a couple of times.

"When what?" He mumbles.

"When's this dinner thing, or whatever—? I'll have to take the evening off." Or switch shifts at least. The one disadvantage of working nights, Tommy the lucky bastard doesn't seem to have any set hours he has to work, at least not that Jon has noticed.

"Friday I guess." As long as it isn't Sunday, it will be fine, Sunday is liable to be problematic: his mom will throw a fit if he doesn't show up.

"Friday—yeah, okay Friday can work." The answering grunt sounds pleased. Jon itches to slap Tommy for practically being incapable of using words, finds himself combing his fingers through Tommy's short hair instead biting back a smile when the other man leans into the touch. "Friday—" He'll have to face Tommy's family, and then think what the hell to tell his own.

How the hell he's supposed to tell him mom there won't be any grandbabies—"Stop fucking thinking!" Tommy growls against his chest, and somehow that annoyed growl steadies him before Jon's thought can spin too far out of control. "Like you know what that looks like." He bites back, and gets another silent laugh. Doesn't feel much like laughing himself, figures that the only one he won't have to worry about if he ever takes Tommy home with him is Monica, not that she'll be of much help—unless he holds her phone hostage maybe, or has Tommy hold her phone hostage?

"Jon!" Tommy growls again, reaches up to pull Jon's ear.

"He!" He complains batting Tommy's hand away in annoyance.

"Stop fucking _thinking!_ " He's ordered, and for some reason that strikes him as funny as hell. Tommy watches him fight the fucking giggles trying to keep his composure like people watch baby animals. "Fuck you man!" He hiccups, caught between pushing Tommy away and not—"Yeah, yeah, Friday." The man grumbles, laughter in his eyes and that pretty much stops the giggles dead.

"Yeah, Friday, sure gonna mark it on my calendar and everything."  


End file.
